


Sancturay (Ballads 1)

by pogshawty



Series: Sanctuary [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: BALLADS 1 by JOJI, COVID-19, Coding, DNF, Dream POV, Dream and George, Dreaming, Flirting, George POV, M/M, Online Relationship, Phone Calls, discord calls, dreamnotfound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29071380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pogshawty/pseuds/pogshawty
Summary: Dream and George notice after a series of calls that their relationship is evolving past a regular friendship. Will their late night calls lead to falling in love or drifting even farther apart? This work is entirely based on BALLADS 1 by joji, each chapter centered around a song from the album. After reading Heatwaves my friends and I were inspired to write our own work. We're excited to share this with all of you. Hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Sanctuary [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2132892
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. ATTENTION

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream is editing a video when George calls him unexpectedly. 
> 
> **ATTENTION**
> 
> _**"I though I'd vocalize my troubles but nobody would listen"**_
> 
> [ _Listen while you read_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Dj6hcwT108)

**T** he whirring of Dream's PC is louder than usual. If it weren't already a bad day, his computer would be functioning at a higher rate. However, today was especially troublesome.

The day had been long. Dream had been editing since he woke up, which was around nine in the morning. He always wakes up especially early to keep on a schedule for his friends in the United Kingdom... or, friend. He talks to George every moment he can, whether it be joining his streams, sending him a snapchat or calling him over discord. Tommy and Wilbur, although also English as well, were far off in the depths of his direct messages. Dream only really talked to them while playing on the SMP or when streaming together. 

Keeping up with his schedule is easy since he doesn't get much sleep to begin with. He’s used to only sleeping 2-3 hours a night. That’s how it’s been since he was a kid. He recalls a far memory from then, staring up at the ceiling. When he was smaller, he would listen to the wildlife outside his window and count the chirps of the crickets. He can't remember the last time he’s felt rested.

A notification catches his attention. Dream pauses the video he's working on and his eyes move to his other monitor. It was George. Dream talks to George all the time: they were best friends. They have been since the day they started talking. Dream knew nearly everything about George: where he lived, how he looked, how he talked. Something about his message didn’t feel right to Dream. It didn’t  _ feel _ like George was talking to him.

_ Hey, can I talk to you? _

Dream blinks. Just for a moment, his mind is encompassed with numbers and letters, almost like he’s loading code. He had been forced to learn how different commands work in order to produce the content he does. With George’s message being so abnormal, it seemed like instinct to Dream to try to decipher it like it was some glitch in a system. After spending moments overthinking what George could possibly be trying to tell him, he responds. 

_ Of course, _ he typed. Almost immediately, he hits backspace. He tries again with  _ I’m here. _ Not supportive enough. He wonders if George is sitting in the window, just watching the three bubbles appear and disappear. Dream pauses, curious if George would send a follow up message so he wouldn't have to think of a reply that didn’t have strings attached. A quick moment passes before he types one final time and hits enter with great hesitation.

_ What's up? Can't sleep? _

Dream isn’t sure if he’s relieved to reply or winded at the thought of what George wanted. Usual conversation with George flowed out of him so naturally. Texting was so much different. There was no inflection or sense of tone. He couldn’t tell jokes seriously, worried if George would take them the wrong way. He didn’t know when George was actually being serious, either. Maybe he’s overthinking. Maybe George just wanted to chat. Maybe he’ll spill out all of his emotions. Maybe Dream thinks of these things to keep fear out of his mind.

_ Yeah, it’s real quiet here _

His nerves are calmed by the less serious side of the conversation. It’s not like it’s rare of George to message him at night. Every so often, they’d fall asleep talking about ideas for the server. They’d chat about different plugins to add or streams to make. Those are Dream’s favorite conversations. George was always so passionate about what he did, it made Dream admire him. It was very rare for George to be so forward. Dream had expected him to make some sort of joke in response, but he realizes this is getting serious. The pressure of relieving George’s problems held itself over his head.

He taps his fingers on his desk a few times before typing.

_ So, what? Now you’re deaf  _ **_and_ ** _ color blind? _

He huffs a small laugh to himself as a pat on the back and clicks back to his other monitor to return to his editing. As he clips the footage and adds his trademark speedrunning music to the background, his mind begins to wander. Editing was secretly something he loved to do. He once considered getting a team of editors so the burden of providing content for several channels while managing a server wouldn’t get the best of him, but the thought of having any free time left Dream solidified with his decision in not getting one. 

As Dream comes back to reality, a notification immediately catches his attention, drawing his mind away from editing.

_ I wish I was with you. _

Dream’s stomach sinks to the floor. His chest tightens then releases. He had never heard something like that come from George, not even as a joke. The worst part of it all was that he didn’t know why it hit him so hard. Why was he upset? 

He removes his headset from his left ear to rub it. Wearing headphones all day made his ears burn. He wanted nothing more than to release the pressure of its weight. For a moment he forgets about the text, staring into his keyboard. Then all at once, his soul caves in. He wonders if George knew the significance of his word choice would pull Dream out of reality. 

How should he reply? He didn’t want to be insensitive to George. He wants him to feel validated and heard. But he knows he can’t be forward. It might scare George away. 

_ I wish you were here too, _ he types at first.  _ I can hear your voice now.  _ No, he couldn’t. 

_ You wouldn’t like it here. Too hot _

Dream gulps. George’s immediate typing keeps him from returning to his video.

_ It gets hot here sometimes. I don't know what ur on about _

He fidgets in his chair.  _ I wish I was with you too,  _ he wanted to say.  _ I wish we were side by side coding in the same room. Eating dinner. Fighting with our hands instead of our words.  _ His thoughts crowd him like clouds covering the moon. The conversation had changed from serious to light hearted and yet his heart didn’t feel like the weight had left.

His right ear suddenly fills with ringing. George is calling. Dream immediately sits up, panicking. Why was George calling him? Did he say something wrong? His mind runs circles for a moment, but he picks up on the fourth ring. 

“Hi,” George tiredly says. Dream quickly turns down his volume after realizing it was at its max. 

He places his left earphone back onto his now reddened ears. 

“Hey.”

“Why are you up so late?”

“Why are you?”

“I told you,” George yawns. “Too quiet.”

“Isn’t Brighton always quiet?”

“No,” He hears moving sounds, possibly sheets. Was George in bed? Dream thinks of him curled in his white blankets with his pillows resting against his black headboard. He had seen his room plenty of times from calls and streams. So much so that his brain made a blueprint of the layout.

“It’s not usually like this,” George continues. “Ever since the pandemic, everything has been… quiet. The streets are nearly empty.”

“No dog walkers?”

“Dream.”

“What?”

“Who walks their dog in the middle of the night?” 

There’s a pause before Dream lets out a nervous laugh. “I meant in general.” 

“Actually, there are no dogs in England,” George says, trying his best to act serious.

“Oh, so the queen is a cat person,” Dream asks, following George’s inflection.

“Yes, exactly. You’d get along with her, really.” 

Dream laughs again, except without so much force. For a moment, he forgets the heaviness of everything. That happens often when they call. Everything else around him turns black. All other sounds but George’s accent seem to fade away. Dream’s imagination engulfs him, helping him close his eyes and break away from the real world. 

“Dream?”

He must have zoned out. 

“Sorry- yes?”

Dream can hear crickets outside his window. He’s reminded of his childhood bedroom once again, but pushes the thoughts away to focus on the conversation. He’s either zoned out or completely zoned in, never in between. Often distracted, but also hyper focused.

“What’s it like?” He hears the rustle of what he believes is blankets again. “In Florida?”

The question brings him down to Earth in a way that breaks his heart. 

“I’ve told you about it before, do you just block me out?”

“I know, I know.” George exhales. There’s something about his voice that seems so different than usual. “Please?”

Dream had never heard George say something that gave him so much insight to his feelings. Nothing so serious and yet pleading. It made his insides squirm. Dream wonders if George could feel his shock through his headset.

“We have palm trees here,” he explains with a voice that feels like it's coming from someone else’s mouth. “It’s often sunny, but it can be rainy within seconds. We have beaches, tourist towns… Disneyworld.” 

Something about the thought of George at Cinderella’s castle makes him grin.

It’s quiet for what seems like forever. Dream clicks back to his other monitor and begins to rewatch his video from the start without sound. He’s afraid of missing the sounds of George’s blankets ruffling. His warm breath against the microphone. Anything that would tell Dream that George really is in bed. Anything that could tell him what George was doing.

Enough time had passed for him to jump at George’s voice.

“You should go to bed.”

Dream pauses his video.  _ Are you sure _ ? He wants to ask.  _ What if this is more relaxing than laying alone? _

“You’re probably right.” He stretches in his chair, his arms moving upwards before falling to his lap. 

Silence. Nothing but the soft sound of his computer and the wildlife outside. He takes a deep breath. The quiet doesn’t feel uncomfortable, it feels the opposite. On a regular day, Dream would be tossing and turning, forcing his mind to run away from the quiet. Something about having George on the other end of his headset gives him comfort. One that he hadn’t had before. One that will let him be okay with it.

“Dream?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m going to go.”

Dream gulps. “Wait.”

“What?”

He pauses, unsure of how to make George stay.

“What’s it like?” He mimics the pause George had made earlier. It sounded less serious coming from Dream, like he was trying to get on George’s nevers. “In Brighton?” 

Dream isn’t sure himself if he is serious or joking around. 

“Empty,” George says without hesitation. “Cold. Usually foggy.” 

“But, what’s it like?”  _ Lonely? _

“I don’t know.” He can’t tell George’s tone. “We drive on the right side of the road.”

“You drive on the left, actually.”

“The left is the right side.”

“Actually, George, the left is the left side.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s basic directions,” He leans back. “They don’t teach you left from right in England?” 

“Whatever.”

More silence, this time a black hole. 

“Will you stay?” George asks.

The question catches him off guard and he audibly chokes for air. He passes it off as a coughing fit, reaching for his water to further play it off as if George could see him. As if George were there, looking right at him. Seeing exactly who he is. Who he really is. He doesn’t have much time to think before being obligated to provide George with an answer, although he wishes he could think about George a little longer. 

“Stay where?” Dream already knows the answer. He just needs to hear George say it.

“Just… here. On the phone.” 

Dream hears crinkling again from George’s side.

George asked him to stay on the phone with him. Not knowing the duration floods Dream’s mind with adrenaline.  _ How long? All night? Until Brighton isn’t quiet anymore? Until he’s asleep? _

“Of course,” Dream blurts. “I mean, yeah. I need to finish this video anyway.”

He’s unsure why this made him feel nervous. Why did this feel more intimate than anything he had ever experienced? He had kissed women, gone on dates, been in relationships. And yet his heart felt like it was pumping poison when George even slightly made efforts to spend time with him past just making videos and playing games. How did they ever become more than that? Have they always been more than that?

“You should get some rest, too. The video can wait.”

“I’m nearly done.”

“Clay.”

Hearing his name come from George’s tired voice makes him drown. He clenches the hand in his lap into a fist. 

“I’ll… think about it.” Every swallow gets stuck in the back of his throat. It’s hard for him to breathe. He doesn’t want to think. To have thoughts at this hour in this situation wouldn’t do him any good. It would submerse him into a depth he wouldn’t be able to pull himself from. And yet he remains confused about George's power. Why did Sapnap’s gestures not make him feel this way? Why did they feel intimate with George?

“You uploaded last week. You’ve had longer breaks.”

“I have to finish it.”

“Why?”

George always pushes him.

“I just do.” Leaving a task unfinished seems impossible. He needs perfection. He often misses in all his attempts, but he refuses to give up until the task is done.

“How long have you been editing?”

“An hour,” Dream lies. He’s used to lying to George about these things. He almost forgets how long he’s actually been in his chair.

George doesn’t continue to fight despite almost always taking conversations further than they need to go. He’s probably too exhausted to fight with him right now. Something about that felt uncomfortable to Dream. He is used to backhanded remarks to everything he says. This time feels different.

“I’m where we’re fighting the dragon. I’m really close to being done.” He wanted to add,  _ I promise. _ He wanted to add some security to his statement, to show George he cares about his thoughtful remarks and to thank him for wanting Dream to get some rest.

“Mm,” George hums. Dream is unsure if he has ever heard him this out of it.

Dream continues editing, this time forced to turn his volume up the slightest to hear where to cut his music. Thirty minutes pass with quiet focus. He exports and can finally relax his posture. He stares into the discord window, no green highlights on either of their profile pictures. Both quiet. He considers muting when he stays on, he doesn’t want to wake George if he had already fallen asleep.

Dream wants to tell George the video is finished. Distract from the crickets, the pressure of his headset, the ache in his back, the whir of his technology and the drumming of his thoughts. 

Tilting back in his chair, Dream looks up at his popcorn ceiling.  _ Disgusting _ . He hates it. Why do those even exist? Why couldn’t he just have a normal, flat ceiling? Why did his have to be bumpy? Even through all the disgust, it brings him some comfort. It reminds him of home back when he was a kid. 

Why didn’t his house feel like home? Why was his mom’s house home? Why didn’t it help when Nick moved in? Sometimes all he ever asks himself is questions. It’s easier to float in rhetoric than in truth.

“George?” He speaks soft, as if speaking too loud would cause an avalanche.

“Mm?”

“I finished the video,” He swallows. “I can sleep now.”

“Mm.” 

_ Except I can’t. I don’t.  _ Dream rubs his eyes. “Should I switch to my phone?”

No reply. He doesn’t want to upset George by disconnecting, but he also doesn’t want to lay by himself in emptiness. There have been nights where he had seriously considered asking Sapnap to sleep in his room. He’s unsure why it unsettles him so much to sleep alone. 

Dream switches the call to his phone and shuts off his computer. He removes his headset and crawls into bed. He stares wide eyed into the popcorn above him. They almost look like stars. 

He doesn’t shut his eyes for a while. He stares, unlinking and unrelaxed, listening to the staggered movements of George’s blankets. 


	2. SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream dances with George in his dreams.
> 
> **SLOW DANCING IN THE DARK**
> 
> _**"Give me reasons we should be complete"**_
> 
> [ _Listen while you read_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzjUs5yR68o)
> 
> a little bit of a shorter chapter, but spent a lot of time on concept and details :) hope u enjoy anyways! will work on next chap asap:))))

**A** golden chandelier drifts from a glass ceiling, but the light is dim and nearly nonexistent. Dream can barely see his hands in front of his face. The glass building resembles the ballroom he had one of his middle school dances in. That was so long ago, he’s surprised he can recall it. He remembers taking dancing lessons, dancing with a pretty girl, being driven home by his mother and falling asleep in the backseat of the car. He chuckles.  _ I was so childish _ .

Classical music fills the empty spaces as women and men dressed in their fanciest attire flow in through doors of record height. Faceless yet full of emotion, they all come in around Dream, as he stands in awe at the center of the room. Boys and girls match up in pairs as if prepared to perform a dance number. Dream watches carefully, looking down and realizing that he himself is dressed in a tight fitting suit. _ Where am I? _

He stares at his hands and legs until everyone around him begins to move in synchronized motions. He stares upwards, then all around, spinning to see the aimless flow of people, all of them in pairs but him alone.

A tap on his shoulder startles him. 

Without seeing his face he could tell that George was inches away from him. His hands and shoulders are recognizable, and his navy blue suit clung to him in a familiar way. Tight enough in all the right places. Dream’s eyes widened for a moment, realizing George had his hand out as an invitation to join him in a dance. 

Nervously, in a matter of seconds, he has to decide between his comfortable spot or a dance with his friend. With great hesitation he decides to dart in a separate direction, getting lost in the floating men and women.

He feels like drowning in the hot breath and quick movements. The music’s pace increases and the volume is loud enough to make his ears ring.  _ Was George running after him? _

The ballroom is endless. Stretches of arms and hands tangle him into more and more dancers. Suddenly he is swept off his feet and twirled around by a woman in blue. He realizes shortly after that he could only see in visions of black, white, navy and green. 

Twirling around, he gives in to the music and forceful men and women who yanked him in every direction. What was meant to be an innocent dance left him in pain and out of breath. All around the ballroom he danced, dizzy and emotionless. 

The abusive pulls and grabs from the dancing partners stop as he’s pulled out of the crowd. George had caught up to him, accepting Dream like a gift from his previous dance partner. 

Dream gives in to the warm touch, staring into George’s face that isn’t there. If he didn’t blink for long enough he could see a shine on his nose or the cupid bow of his lips. 

They stand still, hands outstretched like an unfinished handshake. The ballroom and dancers disappear, leaving Dream and George in a state of nothing. A room of pitch black, where sensory and memory of what they looked like previously is the only guidance into understanding what is happening.

Dream hadn’t noticed the music had stopped until he realizes they are slow dancing to no rhythm or beat. Silence. With clumsy twists and turns, nothing is available to guide them. The darkness is somewhat comforting, as if this is how they were supposed to coexist all along. Music starts again but very mellow, their movements becoming softer. His hands become sweaty.

“Thank you for dancing with me,” George says thoughtfully.

“Oh- you’re welcome.”

“You’re better than I thought you’d be.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No,” George mumbles with a chuckle.

Dream can’t see him, but he knows he’s smiling. He knows he’s glowing. 

“I didn’t know you could dance, George.”

“Of course I can dance.”

“It doesn’t seem like something you’d like.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure why. I guess I just don’t see you as a dancer. You mostly sleep and play video games, can you blame me?”

“I guess not.”

George spins Dream around, holding him closer than before. Dream’s back presses against George’s chest as they sway back and forth. Dream notices the way George tangles him is less aggressive than the crowd of dancers from before. His touch felt loving and intimate. 

“Do you know why we’re here?” George asks, his warm breath hitting Dream’s neck, giving him goosebumps. George was shorter, and Dream can’t help but wonder if the message was meant to be a whisper to his ear.

“No.”

“I don’t know either.”

“I wish I knew.”

“Why?”

“I’m not sure. I just need to know what this means.”

He’s spun back to facing George, untangling and tangling again to the sound of the beat. Their movements pick up as they make more ground, dancing in a wider circle than before.

“I took lessons as a kid.”

“You’re so weird.” Dream laughs, the image of George turning up for ballroom lessons stuck in his mind.

“Shut up.”

Their dancing slows again, George pulling him in closer.

“Are you afraid?” George asks.

“Of what?”

Dream is greeted with drops of light, distracting him from their conversation.

Looking up, he sees drips of candles floating from above. Small light sources dance at their pace and float around as they quietly continue their movements. The floor lights up with each step they take. George’s hand slips farther towards Dream’s waist, and he pushes closer. No longer at arm's length, they’re pressed together. He can feel George’s head tucked under his chin. 

Dream closes his eyes, unsure of how to ground himself while George is pressed against him like this. In some strange way, Dream is curious if George knows he’s dancing with him or if he is a mindless robot.

“Of this?”

George’s voice is soft, mumbled by Dream’s clothing. He almost doesn’t hear him, distracted by the sensory of George’s touch.

Dream opens his eyes back up. The wax of the candles that stretch all around them collects on the ground as the light sources slowly begin to melt away. He considers asking George if they could stay as they are, swaying slowly back and forth, until the last candle goes dark. He imagines himself as one of them, slowly melting away, bright and afraid. George and Dream stand together somewhere unknown. Somewhere between time and life. 

Dream breathes, and it seems to startle George. He feels George’s head tilt upwards, away from his chin. He feels an unrecognizable emotion as he can finally stare into George’s face. The light from the candles flicker in the reflection of his eyes.

He is swallowed by fear and anxiety when he realizes George could see him, too. 

George looks at him like he’s someone else.

They stare, George slowly moving his body back to arms length. Dream can’t read his expressions. 

“I need to find Clay,” George begs. He’s frowning, his face filled with urgency.

“Me,” is all Dream could muster. “This is me.”

“No.”

“George.”

“No, Dream.” He could hear his voice break. He had never seen George so worried. 

“I need to find Clay.”

The twinkling of the chandelier comes back into Dream’s vision, the people of the ballroom replacing the dripping wax. The dancers begin to leave. The music had stopped forever ago, but it felt as if it just ended.

George looks towards the dancers who walk past them. He tries to become one of them.

Dream watches him stare into the crowd, at first refusing to let go of his hand. He could see George’s worry, the need to find him. Then he lets go, and all at once, he feels everything.

Dream hopes George can find him.


	3. TEST DRIVE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> George is planning to go on a walk, but is interrupted by a startling text from Dream.  
>  **TEST DRIVE**
> 
> _**"I don't like when you taunt me (I don't like when you taunt me)  
>  You've been calling the wrong line (you've been calling the wrong line)"**_
> 
> [ _Listen while you read_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PEBS2jbZce4)

**G** eorge sits in his apartment alone, the afternoon sun giving his wall stripes of glowing yellow. Although the day was mostly cloudy so far, the occasional peaks of sun through England fog makes him content. The lockdown rules for England had continued to increase as the need for vaccines grew. In order for travel plans to be available by the summertime, the UK would have to be a mostly vaccinated population. 

In order for George to see Dream, he’d have to remain positive. He’d have to encourage his friends and family, spread the word amongst his other British friends and hope that by summertime his efforts of socially distancing and not leaving his home would pay off. 

Luckily, he was allowed to go grocery shopping and exercise. Occasionally he saw his parents, even though advised not to. He’s a mother’s boy, afterall.

As George gets up to take on the rest of the day, a notification stops him from entering his bedroom for his shoes. 

_ Hey _

It was Dream. They had fallen asleep on the phone together last night, until George had woken up and decided to end their call. Despite Dream’s snoring, he might have stayed on the other line if it weren’t strange of him to do so. He fears his behavior around Dream has changed lately. Staying on that call wouldn’t help his case.

_ Hi _

George reaches for his shoes, sitting on the edge of his bed to put them on. 

_ I had a weird dream _

Curious, George pushes Dream into spilling over, like he always does. It felt strange to have power over someone the entire world believes is mysterious. Not only to know him so well, but to have learned in symbols than directly. George and Dream were never forward, everything was unspoken or coded. George might not know what he looks like, but he  _ knows _ Dream. Even if everything he knows has been given to him through jokes and an unspoken language, he believes it is true. The only people in the world who may know Dream better is Sapnap, his mother or his therapist.

George stands, now ready to leave. He pulls his mask to his nose and sends his reply. 

_ What was it? Another weird pee dream? _

He smiles, recalling one of Dream’s most embarrassing tweets, where he admits to have had a dream about peeing the bed. 

George leaves his apartment, heading down the hallway and towards the elevator. Alone, he decides to take a drink of his water bottle. It had the Dream smiley face on it, the bottle came from Dream’s merch store. Although he was given a sweatshirt from Dream, George usually spends his own money buying Dream’s merch. It makes him feel good about himself when he supports his friends.

He slips his mask back up after screwing the top of the bottle back on. 

The elevator dings, and the doors swing open.

“Good morning, George,” his neighbor greets.

“Good morning.” 

They nod and wave. George steps inside the elevator, pressing the button that would take him to the lobby. He zips up his coat, pulling the hood from his hoodie out so it wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Two layers made him feel especially cozy.

Dream replied.

_ Idk if I should tell you _

George frowns. 

_ You can tell me _

Stepping out into the lobby, George checks to make sure he remembered his keys. He often forgot them and had to repeat his routine all over again. After finding them, he continues walking. He makes his way to the parking lot. 

He stops in his tracks, checking his phone.

Dream’s response needed careful consideration for a reply. The wind feels like poison in George’s lungs. Unsure of how to react to the situation, George looks around, as if someone is watching him. He feels paranoid.

George forgets to breathe, makes his way to the curb, and has a seat. He rereads a few times until he can exhale.

_ I had a dream we danced in a candlelit ballroom. I couldn’t see you but I knew it was you for some reason. You knew it was me but also not. Idk. It’s nothing _

The cold makes his cheeks turn red. It’s windy, and although the sky shows sun, rain and snow are expected in the near future. George’s thoughts spiral and slowly he feels like he’s observing his body from an external source. He’s burdened with knowing that not only did Clay have dreams about him, but he thinks that they mean nothing. George stares at the water bottle that sits next to him, the familiar smiley face making his stomach plunge deeper.

_ Cool, you mean nothing to me,  _ he types. Anger mixed in with Brighton weather makes his ears burn. If he sends the text there would be no way Dream would take him seriously anyways. He debates hitting send, but is quickly brought down to Earth and away from his overthinking by another notification.

_ Idk. I just don’t want you to think about it too much. It was weird and probably just an editing stress dream. Don’t worry about it. I think it was funny _

George rubs his eyes, setting his phone down on the ground next to him.  _ Funny? _ He stares into the parking lot. Could it be possible that Dream sees him? Did he know how often he sits alone, overthinking everything? Is it possible to have a dream about the two of them dancing in black tie apparel and believe the meaning is editing stress and that it’s simply just  _ funny? _

_ What do you mean I saw you but I didn’t? _

A walk through town is pale in comparison to sitting on the curb texting Dream. His hands shake in his lap, wind mixed with a strange sense of anger and anxiety keeping them numb. 

_ You knew I was Dream but you didn’t know I was Clay. You couldn’t make a connection. _

George’s mind continues to run free, despite the momentary block it has when Dream expresses concern that he would think about this too much. Dream is exactly right. Questions to push into Dream’s lap come to George like balls rolling through a pinball machine. 

_ Had they danced slowly? Had they touched waists and held hands? _ The thought brings him sensations he can’t describe.  _ Did they step on each other's toes or were they synchronized?  _ Most important of all the questions,  _ had George seen Dream’s real self, all dressed up, dancing just with him? Were they alone and was it intimate? _

The thoughts were enough to change his entire day. The weight of this conversation sits heavy on his body.

_ That’s silly _

If there is one thing George can do, it’s holding himself together enough to hide his true feelings, especially through text. Sometimes, calling is a different story. Sometimes he listens to Dream ramble on about something, tell him stories or quietly focus on a project, and that alone can make him sensitive. 

His head lulls back to look at the sky. Clouds patch in seas of blue, covering the sun and warning of dreadful rain or snow showers. 

_ Yeah. Did you end up sleeping ? _

George hovers his fingers over the keyboard while thinking of a response that wouldn’t have to be a lie but that would also be convincing. He goes with classic simplicity. 

_ Yes _

George sets his phone back down next to his water bottle. He pulls his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. His chin presses downwards, and he closes his eyes.

If George knew anything about what he was feeling, it’s that he feels something deep for Dream. Even worse, he’s felt it grow and grow until it’s consumed him. His first thoughts about Dream began a couple months after they were spending everyday coding and making videos together. Every moment was spent in calls, texting about upload progress and updating each other on basic life details. 

Ever since the beginning, the weight of knowing that Dream would never see him as more than a friend crushed him and pushed him into a mental repression that only continued to grow bigger.

Lately, it was getting harder to fight. As their friendship grew, the more comfortable George became, and the harder it was to be someone else. The same way that George knew Dream, Dream knew George. Through phrases, code, and unspoken words, their friendship had surpassed all levels with flying colors. The more Dream got closer, the harder it got for George to lie and shut him out. The more Dream could read into his repression.

For a while, all George could see was Clay. He didn’t know his face but he knew his heart. All of it was still the same. The emotions and characteristics of his friend are all wrapped up in a clean cut suit, just for him. George is dragged around to all their favorite songs. 

He wonders if he’ll be able to experience a love so deep for someone who may reciprocate his emotions in his next life.

George’s eyes coat with liquid, unsure if not blinking, the wind or his emotional explosion is to blame.


End file.
